Lyer & Aluraios | Ydora
Drip, drip, drip.
The light sound of water echoed in the darkened room and caused a gnarled hand, the veins and bones stark in the pale skin, to draw back the curtain above the small bed for sunlight to flow in and cause the hand's owner to close her eyes and snuggle back into the pillow.
I knew I shouldn't have stayed up all night to study for the exam, she thought, closing her eyes for a few seconds more blissful rest just as the Great Bell rang its solemn dirge across the city, and a sharp knock jerked her fully awake. "Oh, gods!" the hand reached again, and she squinted as she twitched the curtain back to allow just enough light in to the cupboard for her to comfortably see.
"Ydora? Are you ready? The Mage-Lords request your presence immediately."
"Somehow I doubt it's a request." Ydora Duval muttered dryly, slowly pulling the covers away from her small withered body. The movement made her grit her teeth in pain, and she closed her eyes, waiting for her muscles to relax and the spasms wracking her body to subside. Slowly she reached out to grasp the tunic and skirt that rested on her Chair and pulled the soft grey material that marked her as a Novice of the Retarrae Order of Human Mages towards her. "I'm coming Gretshen!" she shouted at the impaitent knock, wriggling the skirt over her twisted legs. The tunic slid on easily, specially cut for her to remove the awkwardness of laces and fastenings.
Once again she closed her eyes, trying not to give into the darkness and slip into sleep that was so gently cradding her body. She grabbed the top of the Chair and painfully levered herself into her chair, every bone aching with the strain on her pitiful body. She should be dead. That was the law in Ioru, at least for everyone, it seemed, but the Mage-Lords. It was only her Mage-power, strong enough at birth to be detected by the Mage who lived next door to the hovel she had called home for scant moments. It was only his intervention that had saved her from the Priest being called and the ritual being invoked.
The less-than-opulant cupboard that was her room was not the only reminder she had daily of the only reason she was here, she was regularly reminded at prayer that she owed the Mage-Lords much. Then there was the fact that they thought, as she was crippled, and theoretically helpless. She finally gave a gasp of relief as she sank into her one privilege, a wheeled chair. Helpless, that they could use her, and her power, and though 'we cannot forge her body into the correctness and rightness of our people, we can surely tame her mind to further the god's will.' was what Gretshen had overheard a Lord suggesting to a tutor, who had agreed.
"Ydora?" The door creaked as she settled herself in the Chair and used the large wheels to propel herself forward. "Have you forgotten it's your Rising today?" the male voice rising in worry.
She allowed herself a wry grin as the blonde boy stepped aside to allow the Chair through. "If I pass the exam I get to Rise." she corrected. "I have to pass the exam first."
"Oh, you'll pass, you so know you will." Gret muttered teasingly. "You've not messed up a test or lesson yet!"
"Thanks for jinxing it, you know how I appreciate you."
"I know, what would you do without me?"
Ydora grinned, her mouth not at all damaged and often mobile. "Do you want to know the reply to that?"
Gretshen smiled back, his shoulder length hair, long for the styles of Ioru's upperclass, flying round his head as he shook his head laughing. "I expect you've not even revised?"
Her small finger pointed ironically to what she knew were bags under her blue eyes. "No, I've been making passionate love to every and all servants who come to attend my every need of course."
He just shook his head, taking the handles of the Chair and helping her manipulate it round the corners of the old stone mansion that served as the Retarrae's teaching house. The dark corridors were gloomy and damp, and she had to resist the temptation to call a Mage Light to help light the way to the main Hall where all major exams took place.
The Rising exams were important, so important that any person taking them was relieved from all and any duty for a week before and after, as well as, usually, being personally tutored for weeks beforehand. She, however, had been deemed capable to pass without extra help, and the passing comment three days ago that the Drackonic and Unihorn languages may be needed had thrown her into chaos. Of course the library was hard to get to, as it was in the center of the mansion, and of course no one had time to teach her the language. Most Mages viewed her as an interesting little thing, with power she had no right to.
She sighed slightly to herself, "If I get this exam, I'll be an Apprentice. I'll have to be taken on by some Mage. They can't allow an Apprentice-level Mage running around without training. Can they?"
"Nope. That they can't." Gretshen grinned, then screwed his face up until it became a semblance of formality as they approached the Hall. Another Mage staggered out, a green robe hung around his haggard and thin shoulders, he glanced at the pair, waved limply, then scuttled away to to the hospital wing. "Hey, looks like Roberl made it through!"
"He deserved to." she replied, then focused inwards as the small door inside the grand carved doors which were only opened on State occasions, swung open.
Beyond the dimly lit corridors the Hall was lit with laterns and the faint glow of light that came from everywhere and nowhere, and was obviously mage-created. Heavy drapes covered the stone walls to keep drafts out the old building and heat in, and the deep reds and blues added an air of opulence to the otherwise bare room. During Festivals tables and entertainment circles scattered across the floor, the light ever changing colours to produce a mystical effect as the gay fabrics and streamers flew in the dancer's paths. Now the only circle was the shielded chalked ring in the center where two Mage-Lords stood waiting.
Ydora felt Gretshen back out the door and half-bowed as much as the Chair allowed to the formally dressed Lords as she approached them. Their heavily embroidered robes fell like sculptures behind them, and she caught a glimpse of the patterning on them as they stepped aside to admit her in the Circle. One, the one wearing a dark shirt, lanced with silver thread, with the waist cinched by a silver cord, and whose loose trousers, which Ydora personally thought must be awful to wear in the heat of Ioru, matched, bore the markings of primarily a Working Mage, while the blue and gold Lord wore the book-markings of a Researcher.
"Ydora Duval?" asked the black and silver mage, who's dark hair was peppered with a matching grey, and dark eyes told her she would pass on merit alone. Which was very good from her point of view.
She manuvered to face them and saw a spark of annoyance in the other darkhaired man's eyes, younger by his looks, who took this motion and delay in answering as an insult. "Yes, Lord." she replied formally, resting her hands open-palmed on the arm rests and bowing her head. She hated this formal dancing, hated the posing and submissivness, which she was subjected to a double dose of. A scroll was thrust into her lap, breaking the old internal anger as she reached out to grasp it.
Dotted with sweatstains from earlier victims of the exam, she unrolled it to gaze at the spell she had to perform. Yes, there were Unihorn and Drackon passages, and she smiled slightly with relief that she'd be able to now pronounce them.
"The foreign species passages are from when the spell was used by several species." the dark robed man interpretted her relief as a look of interest, "They cannot do anything, as they're only cast with drackon or unihorn magic. The beginning is universal."
The blue robed mage looked impaitently at this partner, the robe scratching the floor as he turned to look at him thin-lipped. "Begin." he snapped as Ydora scanned the spell once more.
"Ariestis Curelion," Ydora started nervously, the realisation of the exam falling suddenly across her mind. The room darkened slowly as she spoke the words, and she fell into the half-trance that most mages had when doing a major spell casting. A couple of mages had to do it for minor castings too, and it had been a great relief for her to find she wasn't one of them. "Shamar terestres cyion,"
A light slowly blossomed in the center of the circle and Ydora closed her eyes for a second from the brightness. Which suddenly imploded, leaving a dark circle filled with star-like lights speckled within the glowing outline. Her eyes opened slowly, her confidence growing as she saw the blue and gold mage nodding approvingly, and she moved onto the Drackonic passage.
The gutteral and sibilant sounds tore her throat as she spoke them. Syllabuls that were never meant to be said by human voice wove around her
© Clare Selley 2009
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